


vignette

by shame_on_me



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Genji Shimada, M/M, Sibling Incest, blackwatch moira
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 05:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14928137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shame_on_me/pseuds/shame_on_me
Summary: short unfinished stories, not related... unlike the main characters, heyo





	1. This Mess

**Author's Note:**

> I had posted these up on tumblr and am archiving them here since my laptop containing years and years of fic is about to die. Thanks again for reading and commenting, hope you enjoy! This first piece is a sort of sequel to the New Year's strawberry cake fic, it's a little spicy but I got bored and never finished.

As a child, Hanzo had kept to himself, rarely wanting to be held, keeping his distance from others as much as possible. Unlike Genji, who would wriggle his way into any unwary set of arms long past his childhood years.  But the truth was Hanzo did not mind being the object of an embrace, as long as he was the one who initiated it. 

It seemed Genji caught onto this only a short while before the canny minds of Hana (unsurprisingly) and McCree (a little more surprisingly) figured it out.  Genji then made swift use of his newfound knowledge the way he never did with the intel he picked up during missions for the clan, constantly devising ways to trick a hug from his dear older brother, occasionally succeeding.

And now he had apparently moved on from hugs to kisses.

With a delighted hum, Genji leaned closer for another kiss, but Hanzo turned his head away quickly.  He had gone too far with that little peck to the forehead, he shouldn’t be spoiling Genji after he already vowed (several times over) to not further indulge his whims.  No more.  For one thing, Hanzo had never been fond of kisses.  Unsanitary, messy.  Requiring one to close their eyes, leaving them defenseless in the event of an ambush.  So of course someone as cocky and careless as Genji would love kisses.  Hanzo had to frown in disapproval, out of the corner of his eyes glancing at Genji’s scarred face, all eyelids lowered and lips puckered.

“You will get no more from me, Genji.  Go to sleep, for both of our sakes,” Hanzo grumbled sternly, pushing his little brother by the shoulder armor piece.  For a moment, he thought Genji was going to put up a fight; there was that familiar glint in his eyes snapping open, that stubborn tilt of his chin.  Then Genji shrugged in apparent defeat, tucking his face into the curve of Hanzo’s shoulder in a manner most comfortable for himself but not so much for the other, the tension of his form suddenly released.  

“Fine,” he huffed.  “If you insist.”

Hanzo was able to glean a moment of peace and quiet before realizing Genji needed little sleep in his newmade form, only a few hours of napping required to refresh his still organic brain while the rest of his body recharged or went on standby (or whatever it did, he would have to investigate.)  Sure enough, when he looked down, the younger Shimada’s eyes had opened again, drinking in the unobstructed view of Hanzo’s bared chest with pure glee.

“Haven’t you ogled enough?” Hanzo muttered.  He very clearly recalled the past twenty minutes spent extricating Genji’s hands and later their spirit dragons from his chest – surely everyone had had their fill, it was not like they have never seen his chest before.

“Well, you won’t let me kiss you!” Genji retorted, as if that were a perfectly normal reason to stare at someone’s pectorals instead.  “And I am not ogling, I am admiring. With deep respect.  See?”  Deep respect in this case meaning the use of one hand to caress and pet.

Hanzo let out his breath in an exasperated sigh.  As the older brother, he shouldn’t have allowed this, should have stopped them starting in the first place.  It was simply not what brothers do.  Even if they could be considered not ordinary humans, even if this deadly cyborg in his arms had changed in almost every aspect from the flitting brat he once knew, everything in the name of sense and reason demanded they give up this mockery of a relationship.  Yet even knowing this, the two of them persisted, and now they could never go back.

“Stop this foolishness, Genji,” he said, without much hope. 

“Please, anija, let me just this once…  You are the only one I can really show my face to.  The only one whose skin I can still touch with my own.”  As he pleaded sweetly, Genji rubbed what remained of his face against Hanzo’s throat; eyes and nose and cheeks, the ruins of his upper jaw. He began pressing part flesh, part metal kisses over his brother’s racing pulse, down to the hollow between his collarbones.  “You I remember from back then.  Like no one else.  Please, I need this, okay?”

“It is not something for me to give you, it never was.”  As endearing as it may sound, Hanzo certainly wasn’t fooled by Genji’s declaration.  It was obvious that he needed Genji a thousand times more than Genji would ever need him.  Genji, adored and trusted and befriended by the rest of Overwatch, still handsome, if not more alluring than before, ever charming. Why would he desire his brother’s touch, the very same brother who betrayed his trust and killed him in the worst possible way?  Why did Hanzo always end up giving in to him, reminding himself constantly through their conversation, their contact the fratricide he committed?  Were they so sick in the heart, so damaged in the mind, that this was their new normal?

“Anijaaaa, don’t be that way,” and the childlike kisses from before became suddenly less so.  Now languid and wet, tongue swiping over the swell of his pecs, relishing.

Hanzo bit back a groan, tried to swallow it down.  “Do not test me, Genji.”

“I don’t hear you saying no,” Genji teased in between his suckling kisses.

How could Hanzo say no to those eyes, that voice?  Not after they had haunted his world for ten long years as he mourned the loss of the only person left who loved him.  At best Hanzo could manage to toss out an occasional sharp insult or a scolding, which would be forever at odds with him letting his brother waltz back in to his personal space later that same day.  They both knew this.  They were brothers, after all.

Before Genji could get too caught up slobbering over his chest and end up dehydrating himself, Hanzo whacked him gently on the back of the skull and told him, “I’ll have you know I took my medicine, so you can stop this disgusting display and at least let me sleep if you are not going to.”

Genji looked up from the nipple he had been worshipping industriously with a crestfallen expression.  “Betrayed yet again by my older brother.  Why do you hurt me like this?”  He drew away, relaxing into Hanzo’s side, looking forlorn but not too forlorn to stop chatting.  “You weren’t this cruel when we were younger.  Did you really take a lover without my knowledge?”

“A few,” Hanzo said shortly, honestly.

“Really?  Even after you killed me?  I still cannot believe it.  My depressed and stuffy older brother in bed with anyone else.  Much less repeatedly.”

Anyone else?  The two of them did not share a bed after Genji turned six, not until just a few months ago and that had been an emergency.  “You don’t have to believe me, I would actually prefer it that way.  Now quiet.”

“What were they like?” Genji asked anyway.

“None of your business.”

“I bet they were really desperate.”

“They were _not_ desperate!” Hanzo snapped before he could think to stop himself from rising to the bait.  “They were royalty, all of them, of the finest bloodlines and most discerning tastes,” he continued crossly.  “Those who could appreciate pure quality when they see it.”

Genji let out a laugh.  “Oh please excuse me, your majesty, I meant no offense.”  He chuckled again, eyes crinkling closed in amusement.  “Hmm, anija, I believe we both know someone else who is royalty, and thus worthy of your pure quality.”

Chagrined at his outburst, Hanzo pressed his lips together firmly.  That only caused Genji to sidle up to him, his smile wide and bright in the dark of the hotel room.  “I will give you one guess as to who.”

“Genji…”

“Correct!”  Moving even closer, until their breaths began to mingle, their lips almost touching, Genji whispered, “And your prize is…”

He did not get to finish because Hanzo had chosen that moment to throw him off the bed and into the pile of sleeping spirit dragons.


	2. Children's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta slide in a piece about Blackwatch Genji, and can't forget Moira either. Going with the canon/head canon that Genji's death day was Children's Day.

He tried to not think too much on it.  The fact that he had been honed and shaped into the perfect killing machine, what his family had always wanted from but never really got, what Blackwatch was able to achieve by frightening means.  It was easy if he could pretend he truly was an android, an Omnic like the ones whose mechanical entrails left oil stains on his blade to be wiped clean.  But even if he could suppress his humanity in order to act as he had been ordered, as he had been programmed, not all of his body had been recreated.  What was left of the sparrow of the Shimada clan could still feel weariness and pain. And that was the reason for his appointment today with Dr O’Deorain.

Under the sterile overhead lighting of her lab, Moira appeared a specter; red hair, white skin, black gear, the only other color in her flashing eyes.  Her thin hands moved precisely over the wiring that connected his flesh form to the metal one.  Reworking circuits, soldering damaged areas, making adjustments and replacements and all the while reviewing feedback from sensors on a host of screen displays.   Cybernetics was not Moira’s specialty, and yet she volunteered to oversee his repairs and rose to the challenge with grace.

“Unfortunately, the desynchronization will likely never improve and may even deteriorate over time,” she told him in a matter of fact tone, setting aside her instruments and swiping one display to the front for his perusal.  “Eventually, you would require major reworking after each mission in order to perform satisfactorily.  Physically, mentally, the strain will increase.  Your use to Blackwatch may not equal to what they put into maintaining your body...”

He shrugged.  If they wanted to discard him, he would not care.  It would not be the first time.

“If I could only get access to Overwatch’s data, to Ziegler’s records, I could possibly attempt something…”  She trailed off, a frown threatening to replace her usual cool smile before she recovered.  Almost gently her sharp fingernails pressed against the palm of his left hand, the still human one remaining after they recovered his broken body from his childhood home.  “This will have to go someday, you know.  A full-body prosthetic would solve all of our problems.  If you wish it, we will make it happen, somehow.”

He stared back at her sullenly before drawing his hand away.  She was not the first one to tell him so, although Angela had admitted they were still some months away from a working prototype during his last visit to Overwatch headquarters.  To turn him completely into a cyborg would indeed take away his pain.  It would be what he wished for.  Yet he balked at giving them his laughable excuse for consent.  Losing his left arm would mean losing the last of his humanity.  He would never be able to truly touch something again once fully enclosed within metal and carbon casing. 

He squeezed his fingers, flexed them, the right one all synthetic  ligature, the left still skin and muscle and bone.  Against his will, he recalled the warmth of a full bowl of ramen, the lightness of a bird’s feather, the delight of splashing water, the pull of the string as they flew koi-shaped kites in the spring as children, the sensuality of a lover’s grasp much later once he had sought freedom outside the clan.  Most of all, he remembered in the wound of his heart the wonder of his brother’s long hair slipping through his fingers before Hanzo ducked away and scolded him and he laughed and teased him in return.  Then, as his thoughts would eventually turn to, the devastation of his brother’s blade clashing against Ryu Ichimonji that shook him to the marrow of his bones as he and his dragon cried out in confusion and pain.

Yet still… he could not so easily give up his left arm.  What if, what if… what if…

But Shimada Genji had died that day.  Who was left now had no connection to that life.


End file.
